Sentimental
by Jabberwockette
Summary: "There's no need to get sentimental, Mrs. Hughes." Set after the S3 Christmas Special. Fluffy fluff of fluffiness.
1. Chapter 1

(for sensitivebore)

_"There's no need to get sentimental, Mrs. Hughes."_

* * *

She hadn't knocked, of course, but rounded the corner and entered his pantry with barely even a jingle of keys, not looking up, her mind on the business of the household.

The sight that confronted her stopped her in her tracks. Her eyes widened in surprise, but she didn't move. Couldn't move.

The big bear of a butler, softly rocking a swaddled, sleeping newborn in one arm, his other arm lightly around Lady Mary, who was sobbing quietly into his shoulder.

"What will I do without him, Carson? It's so unfair. We fought so hard to finally be together, only to…"

"Life is seldom 'fair', my Lady," he murmured gently, so gently. "But you were together, in the end, you had that time, and that is worth something. You loved, and were loved."

He looked up and locked eyes with the woman standing silently in the doorway. _Don't question this, please,_ his eyes pleaded. _Let us have this. Let **me** have this. _She should have backed out of the door quietly right then, but found she couldn't. Her eyes were beginning to fill with tears. _Oh, you dear man. You great big, sentimental fool of a man._

"But I can't do this without him. I can't…"

Gaze still fixed on the housekeeper in the doorway, he murmured again in that warm, comforting rumble, patting the young woman's shoulder.

"There, now, my Lady. You can. You are one of the strongest people I know. And I know it's not a comfort right now, but you still have us."

Elsie tilted her head slightly and wiped away a tear. His eyes had never left her. She nodded at him, and he acknowledged it with a touch of a smile.

"You always have us."

She backed quietly out of the doorway, and pulled it further closed behind her.


	2. Chapter 2

_(still for sensitivebore, who keeps writing such beautiful things for us, and deserves a little in return)_

* * *

Fifteen minutes after she hears Lady Mary make her way back upstairs with the baby, she once again approaches his pantry, a tray laden with tea and a plate of shortbread.

The door is slightly ajar, not closed. She knocks this time.

He looks up from his desk as she enters. His features soften when he sees her carrying the tray.

"I thought perhaps we could do with some tea."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes, that's very kind. I could, yes."

They fuss over the tea for a moment. Once they are settled in, though, he regards her apprehensively over the rim of his cup. He clearly expects her to ask him about earlier. About Lady Mary's visit.

She doesn't.

They discuss the business of the house, as they always do. The maid hired to replace Edna was working out well. Mr. Barrow and Jimmy had reached a noticeable truce, which was a relief. There was the matter of Mr. Molesey, and what his duties would be now that… well, yes, she agreed. Perhaps it was still too soon for that. The poor man was still despondent about Mr. Crawley, and Lord Grantham, still reeling himself, was not inclined to worry about such matters of staff right now. She would gladly help find small things to keep him busy, then, for the time being.

They finish their tea, and she notes the late hour, the bit of work she still has to finish before retiring for the night. He rises to his feet when she stands. Of course he does.

Her back is to him, hand on the door, when he clears his throat again.

"About earlier, Mrs. Hughes…"

She steels her face into a look of polite interest before turning back around to face him. He averts his eyes down, apparently embarrassed that he feels this topic needed to be broached at all.

"…Lady Mary came down with the boy to introduce him, and…"

She closes the distance between them in two steps, reaches out and pats his large, clasped hands reassuringly, as she has so many times for so many of her charges.

"Mr. Carson, I think we are all allowed our moments of sentimentality. I accept that Lady Mary is your weakness in this regard, just as some of the young men and women in our charge are mine."

They stand like this for a moment. He is still not looking at her, but at her hand on top of his, his expression unreadable. He takes a breath, perhaps two, and slowly, gently, turns one of his hands over beneath hers so that their palms are touching.

"Mr. Carson?"

Still not looking up at her, he raises her hand to his lips, holding the fingertips as delicately as he would those of a lady he was helping from a carriage. The light kiss that he presses to those fingertips, though, lasts just a fraction of a second too long to be considered entirely proper. He meets her eyes now, and seems to recover himself somewhat at her expression of surprise. He straightens to his full height, releasing her hand.

"My apologies," he says, clearly not apologetic in the least. "It seems perhaps Lady Mary is not my only weakness in this regard."

Her eyes flick from his face to his hands and back again. Without fuss — or really even a moment's thought, she realizes later — she reaches up to lay a hand against one side of his face and gently kisses his cheek. She does not linger. The kiss could be considered chaste, but for her soft look and the tenderness in her voice.

"Nor are the others mine, dear man."

It's his turn to be taken aback now. Eyes widening with this revelation, he finds himself entirely speechless and unable to fathom what to possibly do next. So he does what his training dictates. He watches her, and waits.

Turning to the door once more, she looks back at him over her shoulder. Her dimples are accompanied by a definite twinkle in her eyes.

"Don't fret, Mr. Carson. Your secret is as safe with me as mine is with you. But don't go getting too comfortable with it, either. Many days I'm as like to strangle you as anything else."

The exquisite smile she receives in return is answer enough, and she finally steps into the hall and begins to make her way to her parlour. A few steps away, she hears his warm rumble behind her.

"I wouldn't have it any other way, Mrs. Hughes."

She grins, and keeps walking.


	3. Chapter 3

_"There's no need to get sentimental, Mrs. Hughes."_

* * *

Nothing changed. Not really.

They weren't any easier on each other.

He was furious. Raging and hollering to bring down the roof. He had walked in on Alfred and Jimmy — _James, _he mentally corrected himself, though privately he had to admit Jimmy did often suit the boy more than James — just as James had been poised as if he were going to… _toss_… a small silver platter to Alfred, who was standing ready to catch it. Toss it! Like a discus! The boys insisted they would not have actually done it, that they were simply joking with one another and letting off steam, James pretending that he would throw it, Alfred going along with the joke. Truthfully, he believed them. If he actually believed they intended to played catch with the silver trays, he would have fired them both on the spot. But that was not. the. point. It was about respect. Respecting the work, and the property of the house that was in their care. Not using it as props for jokes and...

"Mr. Carson… MR. CARSON!"

She was standing in the doorway with _that_ look on her face. Oh, for God's sake, must she interrupt him now? He was just building up to a solidly-delivered, booming lecture.

"WHAT."

"I need to speak to you. Now."

He blinked. Made an audible huff.

_"Please."_

A pause as he quickly studied her face and read the steely look in her eyes. No, whatever it was, it wouldn't wait.

"Right. Fine. We will continue this later. In the meantime, the two of you can reflect on your actions while you polish the rest of this. And I assure you I will be inspecting every inch of your work. And after that, I have another task for you that will keep your hands productively occupied for the rest of the evening."

"Yes, Mr. Carson."

He turned on his heel and stalked out of the room. She was already most of the way down the hall. Eyes narrowed and his face set in a scowl, he followed her to her parlour and closed the door behind him.

She turned to face him, looking positively ferocious. Well, sod that, he was feeling ferocious himself.

"Was it necessary to undermine me like that? They need to _learn_, Mrs. Hughes. They will never do that if you intervene on their behalf when I am trying to teach them."

She met his look head-on and directly. "The only thing you were teaching them, Mr. Carson, is to never get caught again. But that is not why I pulled you away at such a crucial _teaching_ moment."

His eyebrows raised. That sounded ominous.

"Apparently…"

She hesitated. That was definitely a bad sign. She only hesitated like that when she was preparing to tell him something he did not want to hear.

"Yes?"

"I spoke with her Ladyship earlier. Apparently we will be receiving the gaggle of guests anticipated for next week sooner than expected. I was waiting for you to finish with James and Alfred before I told you, but I'm afraid it can't wait any longer. Lord and Lady Ashburn and the family will be arriving a week early. Their plans were changed."

Carson's eyebrows shot through the roof. He seemed unable to make a coherent sound.

"We need to have all the rooms ready for them _and _their not inconsiderable staff by tomorrow, and there will be significantly more people and formal dinners _this_ week, not next week."

All he could do was sputter out, "Surely you are not serious."

That remark deserved an eye-roll, and he got one. "Don't shoot the messenger, Mr. Carson. I don't like it any more than you do. Possibly less, I'd wager."

He huffed. "Did you… _impress _upon Her Ladyship the _position_ that puts us in? We'll have to…"

"Her Ladyship was appropriately apologetic, but the situation is out of her control. Still, that changes little as far as we're concerned."

He sighed heavily.

"What I _told_ her Ladyship was, and I quote, that 'We are in the business of making miracles happen, so what's a few more?' And you'll be pleased to hear I said it with a smile."

He straightened, regaining some of his customary composure. "I'm sure your restraint was appreciated, Mrs. Hughes, even if it was expected."

"And then I redid the schedules, worked out assignments for the maids, and pulled seven rooms of spare linen out of a hat. In another hour, which will include one _short_ argument with Mrs. Patmore, I should have the supplies order revised and ready to go."

_An argument which you will win_, he mentally replied.

"What I need from you, as soon as you are able, are the things on this list. It should only take about an hour. Of course, there are still the menus to print, and breaking the news to the rest of the staff. And barking orders at everyone to corral the chaos once they arrive, but I daresay you'll probably _enjoy_ that."

He was, once again, speechless. He took the list from her. She was right, it would only take him about an hour.

"For those things, though, this afternoon is fine. That should still give you a good 30 minutes to finish ranting at James and Alfred, then your minimum one hour in the wine cellar before the dinner gong. I know you like to have at least twice that long to breathe down their necks under these conditions and ninety minutes downstairs, but I'm afraid needs must."

"Mrs. Hughes, I…"

"And now that you've had a moment to step _away_ from the boys, your return will only be _more_ ominous for them. I believe they've had just enough time to properly stew in anticipation of what you have in store for them next."

He met her triumphant look with one of pure admiration. There was hint of a smile as his eyes flicked over her, top to bottom, in silent appraisal.

"You really are magnificent, you know," he said, a with a touch of affection. There was a noticeable pause before he added, "At your job."

"My goodness, Mr. Carson. Coming from you, that's a compliment for the books."

"Indeed. If I thought for a moment you'd accept, I'd ask for your hand in marriage this very instant." His tone was as formal as ever, but his eyes were twinkling with merriment.

"Foolish man. Careful what you wish for." The blush spread from her dimples to her ears. "Off with you, then. Back to scolding the footmen. Channel your frustrations, you'll feel better after. I do hope there is brandy left over tonight. I've a feeling it will do us both good."

"I'm sure something can be arranged." He wasn't even trying to hide his smile at this point. He turned to leave.

"And Mr. Carson?"

"Hmmm?"

"Do try not to propose to Mrs. Patmore as you shower her with effusive compliments about her cooking tonight. I know you adore her roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, but after the experience with Mr. Tufton, she might well bean you over the head with a skillet. And then I'd have to redo the schedule again to give someone time to clean up the blood."

He expertly composed his features back into the stern facade. "Very well. For the sake of your workload and my own safety, I will try to keep my sentimental tendencies under control. At least during dinner."

He thought, briefly, on the walk back, that there were perhaps better ways of channeling some of his frustrations, but for now, this would have to do.

For now.

After all, she hadn't laughed at him. And she hadn't thrown him out of the room.

_God, that woman, _he thought. _Magnificent._

Nothing changed, but life changes us, if we let it.


End file.
